


the girls next door

by josiebelladonna



Series: strapping young lady diaries [3]
Category: Anthrax (US Band), Bandom, Megadeth, Metallica, Slayer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, BDSM References, BDSM Scene, Bad Girls baby, Banter, Belly Dancing, Bloodplay, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Jokes, Dirty Talk, F/F, F/M, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gender or Sex Swap, Girl Band, Girl Power, Girls' Night Out, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Lesbian Sex, Mommy Kink, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Payback, Public Hand Jobs, Romantic Face Punching, Rule 63, Simultaneous Orgasm, Stripping, Sugar Mama, Threesome - F/F/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voice Kink, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiebelladonna/pseuds/josiebelladonna
Summary: “Let’s make love... I do it all the time.”four women. four erotic vignettes. these are the girls your parents warned you about.
Relationships: Dave Mustaine/Original Character, Frank Bello/Original Character, James Hetfield/Original Character, Joey Belladonna/Original Character, Tom Araya/Original Character
Series: strapping young lady diaries [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781404
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. the four horsewomen

**Author's Note:**

> Rule 63.   
> after damn, i wish i was your lover and my own drawings, let’s just say the big four could use a healthy dose of estrogen~
> 
> all the girls!  
> James Hetfield // Jane Alana Hetfield   
> Kirk Hammett // Kira Hammett  
> Lars Ulrich // Lara Ulrich   
> Cliff Burton // Chloe Burton
> 
> Dave Mustaine // Davinia Skye Mustaine   
> David Ellefson // Davinia Ellefson  
> Chris Poland // Christina Poland
> 
> Joey Belladonna // Josie Antonina Belladonna   
> Scott Ian Rosenfeld // Skye Ivy Rosenfeld  
> Dan Spitz // Danielle “Dani” Spitz  
> Frank Bello // Francine Bella   
> Charlie Benante // Charlcie “Charl-C” Benante  
> Neil Turbin // Nelly Turbin  
> Also: Dan Lilker // Danielle Lilker
> 
> Tom Araya // Toni Esmeralda Araya  
> Kerry King // Kari King  
> Jeff Hanneman // Jen Hanneman
> 
> _“I know that I... I am hiding.  
>  The you I show to you is just a lie;  
> you take what you want, you get what you take.  
> You take what you want, you get what you take,  
> but I've got something, man,  
> that your fucking money cannot buy!”_  
> -“demirep”, bikini kill

“Kira, where’d you put my lipstick?” asked Jane.

“It’s on top of the dresser, where it’s always been,” Kira scoffed as she messed around with the strings on her guitar. Can never let that beautiful royal blue guitar get too out of tune, or so she was told growing up and learning how to play.

Jane ran her hairbrush through her bright golden blonde hair, which fell all the way down to her waist. She had been growing it for years up to that point: she always knew she would be the badass chick out front with a guitar before her and the wild untamed mane of long beautiful blonde hair behind her. She wanted to be like Debbie Harry and she wasn’t going to take shit from anyone.

She puckered her slightly plump, shapely lips to the mirror and picked up her cherry red lipstick for a healthy smattering of it. She dabbed her lips and turned to Kira and her bare faced beauty, complete with sun-kissed Filipino skin and tight black curls all about her head. She had on a pair of dangling earrings which consisted of silvery dice and little black skulls. Her black low-cut blouse and short plaid skirt only added to her look.

“How do I look?” asked Jane as she adjusted the lapels of her black leather jacket.

“Super cute, Jane, babe. All the boys are gonna go ape tonight and ya might take one backstage with ya, too.”

“Not if Lara or Chloe go topless again like they did in New York City,” Jane giggled.

“Oh yeah, and they paraded around with Anthrax like a buncha burlesque dancers.” Kira smirked at the memory: it made sense given they were on home territory for Anthrax no less, but Jane couldn’t help her desire to look decadent for the men in the audience that night.

“I’m starting to think those gals were show girls in a past life,” she confessed. “I mean, we are in England right now—they’re a lot more loose about things over here. And I’d think with the five of them especially...”

“Five sexy women playing in their underwear?” Kira paused for a moment to brush a tendril of hair off of her rounded jawline. “Definitely.”

“Especially that little gal they got from upstate... what’s her name? Jolene?”

“Um, Josie. I think? I’ll ask Lara—she knows these sorts of things. I only know she’s a doll and she has a nicer voice compared to Nelly.”

“She kinda looks like you, too!” Jane laughed.

“She does!” Kira began to strum her guitar with her rounded black fingernails: Jane recognized the chords as the beginning of “Jolene” and she proceeded to hum the words to herself. Kira raised her head and showed her a pensive look. Her fingers slowed down over the lighter, nylon strings into a steady pluck to where she made a soft drone noise with her guitar.

“What’s up?” Jane tossed her hair back and stuffed her hands into the small pockets, which were right underneath her breasts.

“Remember the other day, we were talking about asking Lara to leave after this tour?”

“Yeah.” Jane frowned. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Kira stopped the sound of the guitar with her fingers on the fretboard. She gave her black curls a toss, which made her earrings tinkle a little bit, and then wrinkled her nose in disdain.

“I don’t really wanna.”

“Why’s that?” Jane folded her arms across her chest. “I thought you, me, and Chloe agreed that we could be a trio like the Ronettes or the Supremes, but with guitars at the helm. Give the term ‘girl group’ a whole new meaning. We all said it was a great idea.”

“I know but...” Kira shrugged her shoulders. “...I’m having my doubts right now. I’m just thinking of Lara and Chloe and how they were braiding each other’s hair—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jane held out her hands so as to stop her in her tracks. Kira examined those cherry red lips agape and those bright eyes wide with surprise. “Lara and Chloe braided each other’s hair last night and without telling me? When?”

“Last night,” Kira answered, nonplussed. “They were talking about wanting to kiss all the guys in the audience while Anthrax were dancing around again. God, it was so juicy, Jane. You had fallen asleep and I was gonna wake you up so we could all do it together, but I was falling asleep... too... I dunno.”

Jane fetched up an exasperated sigh. Maybe that was what she got for going behind Lara’s back like that, but nothing could deny the uneasy feeling inside of her stomach, a feeling as prominent as the one in between her legs. She thought back to when she and Lara first met back home in the streets of Los Angeles, right outside of a record shop, a coffeehouse, and an art gallery, all right next door to one another. Lara spoke with that striking Danish accent and her eyes always twinkled whenever she spoke about Deep Purple or any new record from a band she loved.

Jane recalled herself actually thinking, “her enthusiasm is so infectious! I love this chick!”

Those exact words. “I love this chick.”

Her face fell. At first, she had felt so confident and so full of life after putting on the black leather, the lipstick, and running the brush through her hair, but all bets were off after this.

Kira frowned at the sight of her.

“Are you alright, Jane?”

“Yeah, I just—“ She pursed her lips together. She sighed through her nose.

“Just?”

“‘Scuse me...” Jane darted out of the dressing room into the hallway, which in turn left Kira alone with her thoughts and that beautiful blue guitar. Chloe was walking around the venue, probably finding something to drink or eat given she was quite the lady of leisure, and she had no idea when she would return to the dressing room.

“Who needs to be a lady when you’ve got a knife,” Kira muttered as she strummed her guitar some more. She recalled that one song she heard on TV on their stop in Vegas earlier that year. She hummed the words to herself until she recalled the melody.

“I know what boys like... I know what guys want. I know what boys like... I know what guys want. I know what boys like... boys like... boys like me!”

She strummed harder and that was when Jane turned the corner and leaned her back against the wall. She closed her eyes and let her blonde hair dangle down over her chest. She replayed the conversation she had had with Kira and Chloe about telling Lara to leave over and over in her mind. There were a few things she wasn’t too proud of, like not giving Davinia a second chance at redemption a few years back, or having the gall to wonder about the whereabouts of her dad, but something about that conversation stung her quite deep.

She pursed her lips again so as to taste that gummy flavor of the lipstick and also to withhold the tears welling up from behind her eyelids. Jane had a thought, albeit a slight one, a tiny sliver that left as quickly as it came to her, but she wished to see her father. To find him and spend all the time in the world with him.

But she shook her head.

No, she thought. I’m alone now. Kira, Lara, and Chloe are my sisters. We’re sisters! All three of us, fuck it! My dad probably doesn’t even know that I’m alive... that’s probably why he never contacted me after Mom died...

“Excuse me,” a man’s soft voice sliced through her tumultuous thoughts. She raised her head to see him: a tall, slender boy, about as tall as her but skinny as a rail, and with long jet black hair down past his shoulders, and dressed in a Motörhead shirt and dark denim jeans.

“Yes?” she greeted him with a break in her voice.

“Are you—for real Jane Hetfield?” His British accent brought a wave of relief over her.

“Yes,” she replied with a shake of her head to show him her neck. “For real. For really for real. What’s up with you, babe?”

“I... hope this isn’t coming on strong with you but—I have... a little bit of a crush on you.”

“Oh, do ya now?” She showed him a playful smirk. The conversation was neither here nor there at that point: she could find Chloe and tell her it wasn’t happening, and then put the suggestion to bed. They were a girl group to a whole new level as they stood: they needn’t show one of their sisters the door.

“And what’s the name of my prince?”

“Lawrence.”

“Lawrence...” she echoed. She ran her tongue along the edges of her teeth; she flashed back on the night she and Lara had a threesome with a boy in Toronto during the Ride the Lightning tour, and Lara gyrated her hips about like a burlesque dancer. A dancing queen of sorts. A dancing queen who knew fifty things to do with that tongue of hers and that sexy French Canadian boy was one of them, even with them still being young kids still learning about themselves.

That was also the first time Jane was referred to as “Mommy long legs” given she wore her fiery red stilettos that evening, and she looked willing to seduce anyone, be they male or female or in-between.

Here, she wasn’t wearing her stilettos but she did have on a pair of ankle high leather boots with a good sized heel.

Lawrence lowered his eyelids at her, to which Jane raised her finger to his lips.

“Don’t even think about it,” she breathed into his face. She leaned forward so he could peer down the lapels of her jacket and down onto the sweetheart neckline of her blouse.

“Think about what?” he showed her a mischievous grin. Jane ran her tongue along her teeth again.

“I know exactly what you’re thinkin’,” she said, and she felt her nipples tighten underneath her blouse.

“What am I thinking?”

“C’mere, big boy,” she whispered into his ear. She pressed her lips onto the rim of his ear and then onto his neck. He would be covered in cherry lips and cherry-shaped markings all over that skinny body of his. She ran her hands down his chest to better feel his slender beauty. He tipped his head back as she brought the kisses to his collar bones. He sidestepped her to the wall so it looked as though he was giving himself to her. Her nipples tightened so tight under her blouse that it tickled her.

She unzipped her jacket and lay it on the little table next to them. He raised his hands up her back so as to unhook her bra.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you wouldn’t know what’d hit you,” she snarled.

“Have at it, Mama—“ Lawrence pleaded.

“Call me Mama again, that’s so hot—mmm, you’re so fucking hot!”

“Mama!”

Jane reached down to the waistband of his jeans. She fondled the inside of his shorts, that warm smooth skin, barely erected for her. Each caress was another notch in the belt for him. His chest heaved harder as she used her thumb and her index finger to do the job: it was a little trick she picked up from Chloe, who had been giving hand jobs since she was sixteen. A little goes a long way. A gentle touch or even a nibble, depending on the boy, will send him flying. Once he’s nice and full, have at it, baby doll.

“Wall or floor, baby?” she offered him.

“What do you feel?”

“Well, you’re already on your back...” Her voice trailed off as she let her panties slide down her legs. He peeled off his jeans to show himself to her. The boy in Canada had his back to the wall, too, so this would be easy.

Or so she believed.

Even if she so much as gyrated her hips, he made a face that looked as though he was about to get off on her. So quick! And she wanted it. Even when he ran his fingers through her hair and massaged the skin on her head, and even when he ran his hands down her back under her blouse, it wasn’t enough to suffice the desire. She was wet and she wanted a little something before the show.

Before he made that face again, she lifted off.

“What’re you—“ he began, to which she pressed her finger to his lips.

“Shhhh...” His breathing slowed down a bit, and she tried again. She knew he was wet, too, but she wasn’t going to let him come just yet. She gyrated over him again.

That face again. Lifted off and examined the reddish blush blooming in his face. He relaxed his breathing and gazed into her eyes for a moment before she tried again.

On the fourth time, he shuddered and shook, and she showed him a mischievous smirk.

“How does that make you feel, baby?” she breathed into his face.

“Like I’m gonna blow!”

She lifted off and peeled off her top to show off the loose bra dangling around her chest and shoulders.

“Good boy—now here’s your reward.”

He gasped and lifted up her bra. He leaned forward for several kisses on the bare skin: her nipples were still so tight with the feeling. When he grazed his lips against them, she let out a soft moan.

Lips on his head and lips on her tits were what she thought about all the way to the British Isles. The sexy front woman of the girl group called Metallica was having a moment.

Each kiss beckoned another moan from her. She was as wet as a lake right then, and she took another seat over his erection: not too much of a seat given the heels on her boots, but a seat nonetheless.

“Mama—“ he begged in a husky voice as she gyrated with much more ease. “Mama!”

“Yes, that’s it!” Jane quipped. “That’s—it!” She let out a low guttural moan as she got off; he followed suit, and she lifted off of him.

“Good boy, Larry,” she said right into his face. “Good boy. I hope you have even more fun in a bit, baby.” She kissed him on the lips and then again on the side of his neck. He flashed her a wink, and then she stooped down for her panties, and then her bra which lay there on the floor. He watched her put it on and then he handed her her blouse.

“Sexy and a gentleman,” she noted.

“I try my best,” he said with a shrug and a tucking of a strand of hair behind his ear. A light healthy sheen lined the outline of his face. They both did excellent.

Jane reached for her jacket and then she returned to him.

“Where are you sitting?” she asked him.

“Second row on Kira’s side,” he replied, “I’ll be next to two women in Motörhead shirts, too.” She paused for a second.

“So I’m—“

“You’re my secret.”

“Well, as long as you’re my secret,” she teased him.

“Of course! You are my crush after all.” He flashed her a wink and she puckered her lips at him. He stepped away from there with a bit of a swagger to his stride. She put on her jacket again when it felt almost a little too warm at that moment. She wondered when the show would start, and thus she doubled back to the dressing room. Jane caught a sliver of cheers floating from down the hall in front of her before she went inside,

Kira had gone and Chloe wasn’t back yet. She could only assume showtime was nigh.

“Jane?” Lara’s Danish accent caught her ear from the hallway.

“Lara!” she called back in an absent tone; she checked her reflection and smoothed her hair atop her head with her hands. She had messed up her lipstick from the encounter, and thus she reached for a tissue for a cleaning and a readjustment. She tossed the tissue in the bin next to her when Lara’s voice floated in from behind her.

“Jane? Oh, there you are!”

She emerged from around the corner: her long smooth light brown hair seemed to sail with each and every movement. Even though she was a drummer, she was a bit round and chubby in build, and yet she didn’t mind in the least given she wore nothing but a white bra and snug little white shorts that only went halfway down her thighs. Jane raised her eyebrows at her matching ensemble and her looking as though she was hungry for something.

“What are you doing? We’re going on in two minutes!”

“Just—um—putting on some lipstick,” Jane told her in a soft voice.

Lara cocked her head to the side. And then a smirk crept across her full face.

“You got a little action just now, didn’t you?”

Jane put the lid back on the lipstick and set it down on the top of the dresser. She dabbed her lips with a tissue and returned to Lara and the devilish grin on her face.

“Well, I won’t deny it.”

Lara licked her lips and adjusted the snug strap on her bra.

“We are rocker chicks—we’re hot even without much money,” she pointed out.

“Sexy no matter what,” Jane added with a twinkle in her eye. “—sister.”

“Sister,” Lara echoed.

“Now, let’s get goin! We are the Four Horsewomen after all.”


	2. "they call me medusa..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"history is written by winners, baby,  
>  so let's make a little of our own tonight.  
> if you're thinkin' my idea of fun  
> is a drag, then you've never been to paradise."_  
> -"sex on wheelz", my life with the thrill kill kult

Her long black curls sprawled down over her slender shoulders like a pair of waterfalls: her bangs accentuated her round face and her dark eyebrows. Her Iroquois heritage was unmistakable with her large brown eyes and default solemn expression. She hailed from upstate New York in thigh high boots when her sisters strode out from the gutters of the City in their high heels.

The new girl. The strange one even at first glance. When people asked Charlcie about her, she always replied, “that's the amazing Josie.”

And yet they loved every moment she was up on stage, be it when her coarse long Italian curls sprawled over her face as she belted out those high notes and her voice filled up entire arenas. She wanted to be like the love child of Steve Perry and Kate Bush, albeit with a bit more sass to the mix. The way she sashayed her hips about on stage, and the way she stripped off her top whenever it proved to be too hot, and yet she still managed to shake her ass about which in turn gave her fine thighs quite the workout. She and the girls often finished out the nights in nothing more than their underwear and with sweat running down their backs and their legs.

Every boy around the New York neighborhoods was taken offguard by the fact a group of five women had referred to themselves as Anthrax and not The Flu-zies given they earned the reputation of performing in their underwear or their lingerie: Charlcie in particular was rather infamous for that, given she always worked so hard during the night. She became known as “the topless beat mistress” given she always left the stage with her long dark hair streaming behind her like the tentacles of an octopus and in nothing more than her silk panties. Her niece Francine, who was close enough to her in age to pass off as her sister, often just took off her top and stood in between Josie and Danielle and blew kisses to all the boys in the audience. Danielle, or Dani as they referred to her, often let her floaty hair cover up her bare breasts, thus earning her the nickname of “the Lady Godiva Guitarist”. The founder of Anthrax meanwhile, Skye, found herself in an oversized band tee and big red velvet Doc Marten boots: more often than not she took off the shirt during a show so as to reveal the stud belt around her slim waist. The lights often shone down on Skye and Dani, down on their bare pale skin which contrasted with their fine dark hair—and in Skye's case, her thick but nicely tailored dark eyebrows—to where they resembled to ghosts.

But then there was Josie, who never did anything more than getting down to nothing more than her bra and her little shorts and her bare feet: it helped that the Indian genes gave her silken smooth skin on her slender but shapely legs and her slim, toned stomach. She was a lady hockey player for several years, and thus she knew she had to expose some skin if she had to get the job done. She didn't care to wear make up because she knew it would just sweat off during the gig: where most other lead singers wore lipstick and eye shadow galore, she earned herself a reputation of being “the bare faced singer.”

She often wagged her finger at the men down in front as they groped for her ankles. She teased them all the time: the whole “you can look, but you can't touch” mantra fused with her raw, dark beauty. She learned to shake her ass in rhythmic fashion about just from dancing to Charlcie's fast punky grooves: she couldn't help it at times. The feeling of grinding and letting her hips sway and letting everything hang out was a feeling of liberation for her. Having grown up in a backwater type area an hour outside of Syracuse, there wasn't much option for a tomboy of mixed race to give herself a feeling of agency. Like she could own herself and feel proud of it.

But the second she held a microphone in her hand, she knew the power in showing off her skin and having a single piece of fabric separating her moist lips from the lips of a man. She owned the stage: she gave Anthrax the fifth point to make out the star, and she gave her sisters from other misters the agency they needed to put on a show and become a force to be reckoned with in the metal world. Five bad girls making absolutely stunning and damn good heavy rockin' music.

The whole shtick about them making out with audience members was nothing more than a story on part of a game of telephone.

It all happened when they played a show a L'Amour and Dani and Danielle Lilker hadn't showed up to help with set up yet. Josie, Francine, and Charlcie stood outside in their little leather jackets and offered to chat up with some of the fans as they awaited in anticipation for the show.

Skye had left a few minutes prior to help out the Danis with set up, which thus left the three of them alone with the fans, most of them men.

Charlcie often signed her name as “Charl-C”, while Francine became known as “molto bella” after her last name Bella. Josie on the other hand yearned for a nickname of her own, besides Belladonna, a play on her last name of Bellardini. One guy offered to kiss Charlcie right on the cleft in her chin but she told him that wouldn't be a very good idea in that she referred to it as “the devil's mark.” The three of them gave their Jane Hancocks for a few more minutes and then they filed back inside of their dressing room to escape the cold New York rain.

Charlcie stripped off her little leather jacket and gave her long wavy hair a gentle toss back. She eyed the hairbrushes on the little table on the other side of the room, the one with the tiny black wheels which were about the size of seashells.

“We should braid each other's hair later on,” she suggested.

“When Skye and the Danis come back,” Josie pointed out as she adjusted the strap on her hot pink tank top and hitched up her fitted rich dark red velvet pants, even though they were hip huggers.

“Hey, Jo, could you hand me that joint right there?” asked Francine as she reclined back on the sofa.

“What, this one?” Josie gestured to the little white roach, untouched, resting on top of the coffee table, right next to the stack of erotic fanzines courtesy of the place next door to the comic book store. “Why—” She showed her a little smirk. “—ya wanna loosen up a bit before the show starts?”

“Yeah—but according to Jon, it's not very good pot, though. I wanna use the paper.” Josie handed her the joint before she took a seat next to her on the couch. She brushed a lock of hair that resembled to a corkscrew off of her face and then she watched Francine undo the joint. She let the grains of marijuana fall onto the top of the table into a neat little pile: they were an unsightly shade of brown, and Josie knew what she meant right then.

There was a knock on the door and Charlcie offered to answer.

“Oh, hey, Len!” she declared with a tone of glee to her voice. She gave the boy at the door a little kiss on the cheek hello. He was a handsome boy with a wave of golden blond hair slicked back upon his head and twinkling blue eyes. He looked like a skiier with his lanky limbs and sinewy body: Josie examined his lanky slender body and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the sight of nicely tailored hips and thighs. It was a fleeting thought, but she imagined herself kissing him right in between those thighs. Fleeting thought or not, she felt it.

“Leonard,” Francine greeted him with a bit of a smug tone.

“Hey, Francine!” Len returned the favor with a friendly grin on his face. “Or rather, the lovely Frankie.”

“Oh, stop,” she scoffed. He turned his attention to Josie there on the other end of the couch.

“I'm sorry, have we met?”

“Len, this is our new singer Josie,” Charlcie introduced him.

“Josie from upstate,” she clarified as she leaned forward for a better look at him.

“Gotta love upstate,” he said with a little nod to his head. “They give us all everything they got and then some.” To which that made her knit her eyebrows together in confusion.

“And Josie, this is my boyfriend Leonard—or Len as Francine and I like to call him.”

“The dynamic Len,” Francine retorted as she tore the paper into little strips.

“Oh, hush,” Charlcie scoffed. “Anyways, I was about to head out to find out if Skye and the Danis are back yet. Wanna just sit tight here with Francine and Josie for a moment?”

“Sure, baby girl,” he said with a smirk on his face. She gave him another kiss on the side of his neck and then she sauntered out of the room and into the rain.

“Charlcie has left the room,” Francine declared as she twined the strips of paper together to form a little flower. “Here, Len, have an orchid.”

“You mean a flower that looks like a vagina?” Josie blurted out, which made him burst out laughing. Francine wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue in a bit of a tease to her.

“Hey, we dance around in our chonies every night,” Josie pointed out, “it only makes sense ta add to it.”

“Well, be careful with the dynamic Len here,” Francine warned her. “He had a crush on me in high school.”

“We never got it off the ground, though,” he added. “Something about—me not working too well with her, but really well with Charlcie, though.”

“Because you and I often saw each other in school,” she recalled with a fluttering of her eyelashes, “and—one thing led to another, and—”

She nibbled on her bottom lip.

“And?” asked Josie.

“We were each other's first time,” he filled in. “Had a little fun after high school jazz class one day.”

“Oh, yeah?” Josie raised her eyebrows at him.

“Yeah. Charlcie doesn't know about it, though. And if I'm honest—” He showed the two girls his tongue, in all its smarmy goodness.

“No!” Francine gasped at him. “I can't do that to Charlcie!”

“Oh, come on, Frankie, babe—we had so much fun that afternoon.”

“Len, it was three years ago. Charlcie just graduated so we were alone.”

“Yeah. And we're alone now.” He ran his fingers through his blond hair. “You are looking rather dashing this evening. As is your singer here. Just a quickie is all I ask.”

“A quick one with the two of us?” Josie felt her heart skip several beats.

“Yeah—”

He moved in closer to Francine, past the coffee table so he loomed over her. Josie clambered to her feet and stood back so as to give them space there on the couch. She stood there with her hair sprawled down over her shoulders like a lioness ready to pounce. Len climbed over Francine, who didn't move a muscle: his face hung over her lovely heart shaped face; he nudged her lush bangs out of the way so as to kiss her on the forehead.

“Don't even think about it,” Josie heard him whisper to her.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck and then her shoulder. He unbuttoned her top so as to do the same to her chest, all the way down her breast and onto her stomach. Josie tilted her head to the side to watch him go all the way down to her jeans. He unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down a little bit. Francine sighed through her nose as he made his way to her hips.

He had kissed her in between her thighs. She groaned in her throat. He looked to have a grip on her knees as he brought his mouth closer to her lips.

And then she knocked him in the chin with her knee. She then held onto his hair and yanked him off of her.

“You're lucky I didn't have my baseball pads on my knees, you fucking dog!” she snarled as he fell to the floor, right on his back, and right in between the couch and the coffee table. She hitched up her pants but never redid them as Josie joined her, right next to her, and they loomed over him. He clutched at his face given Francine made him bite his own tongue.

“Hey, Jo, I suggest we knock this boy to his knees,” Francine quipped.

“I agree. Make him pay for wantin' to get you in between him an' Charlcie. Absolutely fuck him silly.”

“That's kind of a tight fit down there, though. What say you and I take him over to that table over there?”

“The one with our brushes?”

“Yeah. I'll take his feet and you get his head—”

Josie rounded the coffee table to hoist up Len by the shoulders: she had to be careful given he had bit down on his tongue hard enough to bleed out from his mouth. The two girls lifted him over the table and carried him over to the table on wheels; Francine used her free hand to take two of the hairbrushes off, and Josie did the same with her free hand. Once they lay him down, Francine took the fifth one from there.

“Oh, God!” Len moaned in agony; blood oozed over his mouth. From smarmy little fuck to helpless little fuck.

“Shhhh... baby,” Josie told him as the feeling came over her. All the nights of performing before huge swaths of men were about to pay off for her. “Let Mama take care o' you.”

She moved down to his jeans and yanked the button open for him.

“Do it, Josie!” Francine declared, and Josie brought her mouth down to his length. She used one hand to hold her long black curls back.

Make him pay. Make him pay for doing that behind Charlcie's back.

As she neared his body, she sank her teeth down on his shaft, and sank down enough to make him yelp. As she brought her head up, she did again at the halfway point and she did it harder.

“Ya like that, don't ya, boy?” she growled at him as she lifted her mouth off of him. Indeed, he was coming a little bit: the clear liquid was unmistakable. Len groaned and moaned as Josie reached underneath his shirt to pinch his nipples.

“Lilith?” He talked as though he was missing teeth even though he had only bit his tongue. She never replied as she showed him her tongue as it slithered about her dark lips like a serpent.

“Allow me—” Francine brought her lips to the side of his neck, but Josie noticed her gritting her teeth on his skin.

“Bad boy needs to be bitten an' punished,” she teased him as she brought her mouth back to his length for some delicate little kisses until he erected.

“An' now allow me—allow me ta ride the Amazon fer a minute—” Josie peeled off her red pants and climbed atop of him. Since the table was on wheels, Francine did the duty of holding it steady as she gyrated over him. Josie glared into his pain stricken face: he kept his lips together so as to keep the blood inside of his mouth. Francine gave him another hickey on the side of the neck, and it was then Josie knew he would get off. The feeling of being in pain brought him down several pegs and he loved every second of it.

She lifted off of him and hung over him in a push up position.

“Miss Hockey Player,” Francine teased her.

“Miss Baseball Player,” Josie retorted as she barrel rolled off of him. They traded places so Francine could have her revenge on him. Blood trickled down from the side of his mouth; Josie glanced over at the little paper flower on the coffee table.

“Don't do it so hard just yet, Fran,” she told her as she darted over to the table. She picked up the flower and returned with it in between her index finger and her thumb. Using her other hand, she steadied the table, which allowed Francine to go forth with the gyrations. Josie then wiped up the blood with the paper.

And then she smeared the paper across his nose and cheekbones. And then she realized what he meant when he called her Lilith.

“By the way, no.”

“No?” he sputtered.

“Naht Lilith,” she corrected him in a husky voice right in his ear. “Medusa. Back in upstate, they called me Medusa 'cause I was subtle like venom.”

She crammed the paper right into his bloody mouth, to which Francine climbed off of him in time for him to come. She hitched up her panties and then stooped down to pick up Josie's red pants.

“I think it's almost time, Fran,” she confessed.

“I think so, too,” Francine added as she handed Josie her pants, “I gotta use the bathroom, though.”

“Wait, wait, wait, what about Charlcie?”

“We'll tell her the truth. We're like sisters after all.”

“Sisters from other misters.” Josie took her pants and then stooped down to pick up her hairbrush.

“Naht so handsome now, are ya, boy?” she teased him with a twinkle in her eye. Using one hand, she put on her pants and buttoned them up, and then she helped Francine do the same with hers. They both knew that even if Charlcie, Skye, and the Danis wouldn't understand, fewer things would be as redeeming to them as fucking a guy silly and leaving him in a complete mess on a table, even with the game of telephone at play.


	3. so far, so good, so much ado about nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"french fingertips, red lips, bitch is dangerous.  
>  cotton candy kiss, can't wait for my sugar rush.  
> can't take it no more, i got to have more tonight.  
> this feeling's so strong, i'm putting you on tonight."_  
> -"lace and leather", britney spears

She knew what it was like to live alone and to be left out in the cold. She was shown the door from her old band mates when she believed it to be only the beginning for them. And she held onto the old leather jacket she had had from whence she first joined Metallica.

Everything reminded her of them for what felt like so long after her departure that she needed to escape. Anywhere. It didn’t matter. She needed to get away. They were her best friends. Her sisters. Her sisters!

She still had the bus ticket back home to La Mesa in her jacket pocket. Jane had personally bought, purchased, that ticket to send her back. She still had the memory of Lara brushing away a tear as the bus rolled away. That round face had loaded up with tears, and Davinia still thought about it even two years later.

In fact, she found herself in the center of Central Park. She had no idea how she got there, or how she woke up with such a splitting headache and the fact she needed to wash her fiery red locks. She towered high over the crowds in both California and New York: Jane often wore those high heeled black leather boots, but she needed not wear anything like that, especially when she played onstage with her lacy white skirts down to her ankles and those short cropped tops that accentuated everything.

Lace and leather, that was her forte. Her signature. Her everything. Girly and badass at the same time, as demonstrated by the name she wanted for her band if she started it and got it off the ground: Megadeth.

She adjusted the lace covering the outside of her skirt to find that, by some black magic, some chance, she kept it intact and without a smudge of dirt on it. As long as the skirt was fine, she was fine, too, even with the veins on the sides of her head pulsating with each and every beat of her heart. She climbed to her feet and glanced about the place. She was alone there in Central Park, in the very heart and soul of New York City. Too far from Skye's place, who still lived in Queens, and Skye probably wasn't even home anyway given Anthrax had their own problems to deal with, like their demo tape and their temperamental singer Nelly.

Davinia flexed her fingers and eyed a bunch of ducks floating upon the surface of the pond next to her. She glanced down at the ground underneath her to find some seeds strewn about. She adjusted her leather jacket and tugged her skirt up so as to not get it dirty; she then crouched down to scoop up some of the seeds.

She tossed a couple of the seeds into the water, and she noticed that they floated there on the surface. One of the ducks neared her for a seed or two.

Nothing could deny the splitting headache, which began to close in on her vision. She raised two fingers on her right hand to massage her temple. She glanced up to see if there were any empty benches around the park so she could lie down and take a nap, but nothing in the vicinity.

Her throat felt parched and dry—probably from all of the booze she had had the night before, but she had no idea. She woke up like this there on the dirt with no money and with nothing better to do than to feed the ducks some seeds.

“Hey, there you are,” a woman's voice behind her said. Davinia peered over her shoulder to see her approaching her. She was a statuesque blonde in a little fitted leather jacket and a small plaid miniskirt: she reminded Davinia of Jane, albeit without the grave expression on her face. She adjusted the strap on her purse once she was right next to her.

“I've been looking for you,” she continued.

“I woke up right over there,” said Davinia with a gesture back to the patch of dirt behind her. She tossed out some more seeds into the water before she stood to her feet to meet eyes with the woman.

“Yeah, it was quite the party last night, if I do say so myself. I'm not really a fan of such things myself, but you seemed more than happy to be there, though. You said something like... 'I don't got no place to go', or something of that nature.”

Davinia groaned inside of her throat from the pain in her head. She rubbed her temples again.

“Would you like an aspirin?” offered the woman.

“Please.” She fished out a little pink tin from her purse and opened the lid.

“These are those chewable ones, so we don't have to find a drink of water for you. Still a good idea to get some fluids in you, though.”

Davinina took one of those little gummy pills and slipped it onto her tongue.

“I'm Leah, by the way,” she introduced herself. “I only knew you as the redheaded chick with the fierce snarl of a voice.”

“Leah? I'm Davinia.”

“Ooh, that's a pretty name. Anyways, my room is right over here on the street...” Leah led her along the pathway to the edge of Central Park, where they were met with a crosswalk and a somewhat classy looking hotel.

“Quite the gig, gettin' a room near Central Park,” Davinia remarked as they neared the bustling street.

“I've got the money,” Leah assured her as they halted at the curb, “I'm workin' for the man, the record label after all.”

“Oh?” Davinia raised her eyebrows at that. “Do you think maybe you can sign me on?”

“Do you have a gig? If you have a gig, I can be your manager. You know, do all the dirty work. Answering phones, getting you places to record and perform, and whatnot.”

“Not at the moment, but I want it badly, though. I even got a name picked out and everything: Megadeth.”

“Oh, yeah! I remember you now!” Leah wagged her finger at her. “You were showing us all your singing abilities. You'd do amazing as a metal singer. A chick metal singer.”

“I play guitar, too. I learned how to play when I was just a kid out in Southern California.”

“Then you're on your way, babe.” Leah winked at her and they crossed the street together.

Her job at the record label allowed her to reserve quite the room, although the party from the night before proved otherwise: the whole room smelled like a mini bar, much to Davinia's regret. The whole scheme of things and clothes all over the floor made her stomach churn. It was the reason why she was asked to leave Metallica after all.

She shook her head, which only made her temples pound even more. The aspirin had yet to take effect; she took a seat at the counter which lined the outside of the spacious kitchen. Leah poured her a cup of water from one of the clear plastic cups on the counter top before her.

Davinia couldn't help but eye the hem of her blouse as it hugged her breasts. She thought back to when she first joined Metallica and the four of them all thought it would be funny to experiment on one another. It was two years ago when they first did it, but two years regardless, she still thought about fingering Jane's nipples as they poked through her top.

She nibbled on her bottom lip at the sight of Leah and all of her golden locks as they flowed down from her head like the golden fleece. She wore no make up, either, and yet her eyes jumped out at her as if she wore just the right amount of eyeliner to accentuate them.

They locked eyes as Leah handed her the cup.

Davinia took a sip from it: the cool water kissed her parched tongue and nourished every part of it before it slid down her throat. The sip then turned into a gulp.

Despite the headache, she wasn't necessarily hungover.

“Do you—wanna help me clean up?” Leah offered her in a low voice.

“If you don't mind,” said Davinia once she had swallowed down all of the water. It was a fleeting thought, but she thought of swallowing something else.

She took another cup of water before she joined Leah in cleaning up her hotel room: they picked up the stuff on the floor. The clothes went into the hamper in the bathroom, while the towels went back into the dowel next to the luxurious shower: Davinia thought of taking a shower before she went anywhere to rid the funk from the roots of her hair and the undersides of her arms. She also figured it would ease the pounding in her head.

As for the funk hanging in the room, Leah took out her bottle of perfume to spritz about the front room. It was better than nothing, but it did the bare minimum. In the meantime, Davinia kicked off her flats, and peeled off her jacket and draped it over the back of the couch, and then doubled back to the bathroom for a nice warm shower.

Indeed, the water welcomed her, as did the soft smelling tiny bars of soap given to the room. She used the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner for a good scrubbing of her hair at the roots, and she let it run down the length of it, all down her back towards her hips. Her headache persisted but she felt better afterwards. She dried off with the one clean towel and put her skirt and her blouse back on over her bare chest: she would have to wash that bra and those panties when she got the chance. She hoped Leah wouldn't mind if she went commando for the time being.

Davinia stepped out of the bathroom with her red locks still dripping wet with warm water, but at least they were clean, much to her relief. She spotted Leah on the muted blue couch next to her leather jacket and with a pensive look on her face. She hoped Leah wouldn't notice her nipples poking out from underneath the fabric of her top as she stepped into the room.

“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Davinia.

“Oh, just—looking through your jacket here—fucking rude, I know. But I found this—” She held up the bus ticket. “—I thought I recognized you from somewhere. You're that chick from Metallica. The one they got rid of because of all the drinking.”

“Well—let's just say those ladies get funny and silly when they're tipsy, and I don't.”

“You turn into quite the bard when you've had a few,” Leah remarked as she ran her tongue along her upper row of teeth. “One thing that—I recall from last night, was that you and them did a little 'experimenting' a couple of years ago.”

“We just—kinda did it for shits and giggles, though,” Davinia explained with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Did you enjoy it, though?”

“Did _I_ enjoy it?”

“Yeah.”

She hesitated, unsure as to how to answer that. Her eyes examined the front of Leah's neck and then her chest once again. Davinia felt her lips trembling. She was alone on the far side of the country and without much of anyone else to speak to.

“I mean, we are alone after all,” Leah pointed out. “The both of us wearing lace and leather no less.”

“True.”

The room remained totally silent, save for some low chatter near the end of the hallway. Both women held still for what felt like forever.

So when Leah stood to her feet and lunged for her, it caught her off guard at first. But she was alone for the time being, thus she embraced this opportunity.

“I don't ever want to drink again,” she whispered to Leah as she neared her face.

“Good—I wouldn't want you to, anyway.”

Her lips caressed hers: smooth like a pair of lush ripe cherries. Leah ran her fingers through the clean roots of her hair, which made her grunt and groan in her throat.

“You like that, don't ya?” she teased her. Davinia then opened her eyes. She shoved Leah down onto the floor, right onto her ass. Since she wore no underwear, she felt the dampness between her legs with ease.

Leah's eyes twinkled at the sight of her.

“You know, I'm the one with the money,” she said in a husky voice. “If we make a little mess here ourselves, I'd be more than happy to pay for the clean up.”

“Excellent...” Davinia dropped to her hands and knees like a creature. Leah lifted up her skirt to show that she had removed her panties as well. Davinia knew a pair of reddened lips anywhere: hers were that red when she and Jane had their encounter.

“Yeah, baby, girl—I'm gonna give it to you so good,” she vowed. Leah leaned her head back against the front of the couch. Using one hand to keep her hair back from her face, Davinia brought her lips to the inside of her thighs to make those labia lips even redder. Leah breathed harder and harder with each kiss, each caress closer to her pelvic floor. Once she was within range of her, Davinia noticed that had shaved, like she knew.

Her tongue still moist from her drinks of water, she moved her head inward.

Sweet and as wet as the pond in Central Park.

Leah breathed even harder with each lick: she let out a sound that resembled to the call of a hungry bird once Davinia inserted her tongue into the slit. She felt her clit tingling and there had to come a time in which she had to have the same happen to her.

Leah's face relaxed so much that her mouth pouted into the same shape as her vagina. She got off right then, which gave Davinia her cue.

She reclined back herself and raised her knees up, but her lacy skirt draped over her own lips.

Panting, Leah examined her legs and her body as it reclined back before her.

“You want me—want me—to kiss those lips?”

“Please,” she begged. “Give it to me, mama.”

Leah wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then she lunged for her knees. She brushed the lace out of the way to reveal Davinia aroused herself: as pink and wide open as an orchid in spring time.

Leah not only used her tongue for the series of licks but she brought her moist lips down onto Davinia like two pairs of scissors. Davinia closed her eyes and allowed the wave of elation wash over her. Leah gyrated over her so hard that it made the floor underneath them creak a bit. This was far beyond what she did with Metallica: this was something else, something more, something better.

It was a fleeting thought, but she thought of that one French word that Lara taught her: “petit mort”. Little death in the place of a reaching of orgasm.

Little death. Megadeth.

Leah gyrated again and Davinia let out a soft moan from the back of her throat.

“Yes! Yes!” Leah declared and she slid off of her. Davinia lay there with her legs open and her lacy skirt sprawled over her torso like a blanket. She slid her legs forward and pushed the skirt back down, only to find her top had pushed up over her breasts: the nipples had tightened up to the point of resembling needles. Leah leaned back against the couch, out of breath but more than pleased. Davinia crawled up next to her, her manager and now her secret fuck buddy. Leah let out a long low whistle and ran her fingers through her blonde hair.

“No one can ever know about this,” she whispered to her.

“Don't you worry—I'll take secrets to the grave with me if I have to.” Davinia lay her head down on the edge of the cushion as both women strove to catch their breath.

At least her headache was gone at that point.


	4. diabolus in erotica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being patient! enjoy this next one~  
> i wrote this one while listening to ozzy 😘😘

“Toni!”

She jarred herself awake to the sound of Kari's high, shrill shriek of a voice. Her long fuzzy black hair had spread across the top of the pillow next to her: the first thing to run across her mind was concerning the night before. She hadn't had anything to drink so to speak, but the night before felt like such a blur that it was hard to believe it even happened. Toni lifted a hand so as to remove the remainder of sleep from her eyes, and then she rolled over onto her side: the bed sheet hugged her thick body; stray ringlets of her hair spread across her face which in turn obscured her view of her best friend and bandmate.

“I was hoping when you'd wake up,” Kari jeered as she tied her long dark hair up in a ponytail behind her head. She then rubbed her hands together. “I've got a little surprise for you.”

“Unless it's breakfast, I don't care,” Toni groaned as she rubbed her temples; her eyes slowly closed shut, but then they opened once again as she picked up the smell of fresh coffee and waffles. She then lifted her head to see for herself.

“Oh, it's Jen!” Toni declared. Indeed, Jen had walked into the room right then with a platter of Belgian waffles for the three of them: her long golden blonde hair fell down over her shoulders as if it was the mane of a show dog.

“Jen and something else,” Kari added with a twinkle in her eye. Toni lifted herself up from the bed and then slouched over her lap: her breasts hung down inside of her bright red camisole, which she hadn't taken off from the night before. She spotted something in Jen's back pocket.

“What's that?” she asked.

“What's what?” asked Jen.

“That—in your back pocket.” Jen took out the piece of smooth white rope in her back jeans pocket.

“Yeah,” Kari recalled, “Jen and something else.”

“Oh, you wanna—?” Toni raised her eyebrows at the suggestion.

“Yeah, if it's—not too much to ask,” Jen said with a tilt of her head.

“Hang on a second,” Toni raised a hand to her, “I thought you have a boyfriend now, Jennifer.”

“I do, I do, and—hey, don't call me Jennifer. You know I'm not crazy about that name.”

“Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer—” Kari muttered.

“You sound like a motorbike, Kari,” Toni chuckled.

“—Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer—”

“Don't encourage her,” Jen scoffed, “or I'm going to make this fucker double tight when the games begin.”

“—Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer—”

“Will you shut it!” Jen exclaimed as she passed Kari to fetch three paper plates for the three of them. “Anyways—” She turned to Toni, who fixed her camisole and swung her legs out from underneath the covers. “—yes, I do, but I—”

“What?” asked Toni.

“—Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer—”

“I don't really care, if I'm honest,” Jen confessed.

“Jen!” Toni exclaimed.

“—JENNIFER, JENNIFER, JENNIFER, JENNIFER, JENNIFER—”

“SHUT UP!”

The hotel room fell into silence. It was one of the rare times Jen ever raised her voice, such that it made Toni and Kari stop right in their tracks.

“Oh, come on, you know I was only messin' with you,” Kari pointed out.

“Yeah, but it's karma, Kari,” she pointed out.

“Karma Kari?” Toni almost burst out laughing at that.

“Anyways, enough with the extraneous chitchat—let's eat some waffles,” Jen concluded with a rubbing of her hands together. “Let's eat so we can screw before we're caught.”

“Eatin' and screwing before getting caught is what I think about,” Toni said in a singsong voice. Jen split up the waffles from the platter, a few for each of them, and each of them with a generous amount of powdered sugar and butter, and then she handed out the cups of coffee to Kari and then to Toni. Such was the life of being in an all female band called Slayer: Toni flexed her fingers and cleared her throat as if she was about to go up onstage and wail away on her big black bass guitar and literally wail into the microphone. She wasn't darling Josie Belladonna and her sounding as though she belonged in the opera, but she could bring the metalhead men in the audiences to their knees with her fierce snarl with just as much ease.

No sooner had Toni finished her first waffle when Jen climbed over the foot of the bed towards her with her lips pouted just enough to mimic the shape of her other lips.

“Who the hell cares if I have a boyfriend now,” she said in a husky whisper of a voice.

“You wanna fuck or just exchange saliva?” Toni asked her with a mouthful of waffle.

“Swallow that bite and you tell me.”

Toni did and then parted her lips at her.

“Where'd you put that rope?”

“In a special place—” Jen brought her lips closer to hers, but never embraced them. That is until Kari reached over to tap her on the ass.

“Wait your turn, Kari,” she scoffed as she brought her lips to Toni's: sweet with the sugar and smooth with the love of Latin America.

“Want the rope?” Toni asked her.

“Oh, you know you want it, babe.”

Jen climbed off of the bed to fetch the rope for herself. Kari wolfed down her waffles so she could join in the fun herself.

“You got the camera?” Jen asked her.

“It's in my purse,” Kari told her with a mischievous smile. Toni climbed out from under the covers so her thick bare legs were exposed to the chill of the room.

“A little rendezvous before we go do some press,” she declared with a licking of her lips. She reached behind her for another sip of coffee before Jen lunged for her wrists and ankles.

“Forget rendezvous, let's play a game,” Jen whispered into her ear; she flicked a little bit of her tongue towards the rim as if she was to give a little kiss. “A little game of pin the tail on the pussy.”

“Just like—like—” Toni grunted as Jen wrapped up her wrists with that smooth white rope.

“Like that—on your knees.”

Toni dropped to her bare knees, to which Jen peeled down her jeans to reveal bare skin underneath. Toni clutched the sides of her thighs and brought her lips to the insides. Smooth as the butter she had eaten; as rich as the coffee she had drank down. She was about to drink down Jen herself, for herself, and with Kari putting the whole thing on camera to it.

Toni moved up closer to her lips—she could smell the soap there. She had shaved and washed before hand, good girl!

Jen stooped over a bit to show Kari her bare ass, and also to keep Toni's dark head warm with protection.

That tongue made its way up inside of her thighs. Jen stepped out of her jeans so she could have a better view of it. Every lick and every caress of her tongue only made those lips turn into an even deeper shade of pink until they were almost as red as Kool Aid. Toni thought about that little bundle of nerves not even an inch away. Perhaps a little stroke of the finger would do the trick?

Indeed, she reached up in between Jen's legs for a touch, but she was quick to grip onto her lead wrist.

“But—” Toni begged. “But—but!”

“No.”

Jen clutched onto her wrists and shoved Toni down onto the floor.

“Let me just—let me just—”

“Imma make you my bitch,” Jen growled right into her ear.

“Not if I do it first, Mamacita,” Toni retorted.

“Oh, c'mon—” Jen reached in between her legs for a caress of her clit. Toni gasped at the cold feeling of her fingers there. She was tied up so it wasn't like she could do anything about it. A caress and then Jen raised her hand to slap her bare ass. Toni gasped again.

Meanwhile, Kari was standing right there right in front of them and she was letting the whole thing go down no less. Toni used her tongue where Jen was the one to use her fingers. It couldn't be any more of a dominant move if she tried.

A knock on the door jarred all three of them such that they froze in place.

“Who is it?” Kari called out.

“Jen!”

It was Kameron, Jen's boyfriend.

“Shit!” Jen herself grumbled.

“No, no, no, bring him in,” Toni blurted out.

“What?!”

“Um,” Kari stammered.

“Just do it!” Toni insisted. Kari eased her way over to the door to let in Kameron and his long beautiful dark chocolate wave of hair down to his shoulders and his leather jacket.

“What's going on here—oh my God, Jen, what're you doing!”

“C'mere—” Toni beckoned him with the gesture of her finger.

“ _Toni_ ,” Jen gasped.

“Bring your little baby boy into the fold, too,” she breathed out. “We are making this three's company.”

“Close the door,” Kameron told Kari, who was still rolling even as she moved away from there for a second to shut the door behind him. Toni gave her dark hair a toss back with a flick of her head, which in turned revealed her dark skin and her sharp brow to him.

“Get down,” she snarled in a husky voice. Kameron fell to his knees before her.

“Drop your pants, leather boy.”

“Why?”

“Just drop you pants!”

“Drop your pants, Kam,” Jen joined in. Kameron unfastened his jeans and peeled them plus his shorts down to reveal his dick. Toni ran her tongue around the rim of her mouth before she moved her head forward. She brought it into her mouth with nothing more than the flesh of her tongue.

“Oh, shit,” he gasped at the feel of her tongue. “Oh, shit!”

Jen caressed Toni's clit some more while she moved her head in closer to Kameron's body for a good hard sucking. They moved in a circular pattern: every movement of Toni's lips beckoned a caress on Jen's part. Kameron himself meanwhile could only relish in the feeling as the very sight and the very feel before him brought him higher and higher to climax on his part. Toni felt him grow harder and harder within her mouth, and then she sank her teeth into the top of his shaft.

The sudden shock of pain caused him to jerk away from her and fall right onto his back. He was still fully erect and with his pants down. Toni then lifted from her hands and knees, and turned on Jen. She pushed her down like a big dog.

Jen fell onto her back as Toni loomed over her with her wrists and ankles still bound together.

“Damn, look at that sausage,” Kari remarked. Toni turned her head to find Kameron still very big and very aroused.

“Hold this thought,” she whispered to Jen. She lunged back to Kameron even still bound together. Granted, there was no way she could climb on top of him to bring the threesome to beyond the mountain top. She could however, sit on his chest and fondle him while he tickled her with his tongue. She slid her thick ass onto his chest to keep his breathing in check.

“Just you try to taste some of this dulce de leche,” she sneered at him as she reached for his shaft with both hands. She molded him as if he was made of clay. Clay paired with leather and denim for good measure. If he even considered reaching the top of the proverbial mountain, she flicked his head to get him to stop him right in his tracks.

“God, you're killing me!” he choked out at one point.

“Good! Because here—” She brought her mouth down to his head for a big love bite. She bit down so hard that he let out a low pained, but euphoric groan from deep within him.

“Holy shit,” Jen muttered from the floor. Toni could taste him on the pad of her tongue: she swallowed a little bit of it but she spat out the rest onto the floor under the bed. Kameron panted and breathed harder even after having gotten off; Toni then climbed off of him and crawled on her knees towards Jen, who lay down flat on her back on the floor.

The tips of her dark hair spread over Jen's neck and chest. She had won the game, and with Kameron there with them no less, and she was bound at the limbs and sporting bright red to boot.

“Tonia Esmeralda Araya, you never cease to amaze me,” Jen whispered.

“Well—I mean, it only makes sense, Jen,” Toni scoffed. “Kari, you got this, right?”

“I fucking did, Tones.”


End file.
